My eyes open, and I come face to face with a chest. A chest lightly scattered with dark hair.
Reality is a bit hazy, and even more so in regards as to how I got here, but after a few seconds of recollection, the events of the night become more than a bad dream. I realize they were real.
The spine-chilling emotions I felt late last night melt through me, and I wonder how I was even able to sleep. With those memories come the ones we made in here, and I focus again on the man whose arms are still caged around me.
Blinking for clarity, my eyes appraise Aidan's chest without moving an inch, swiveling down over the slope of skin between us. He's without a shirt, and the view is impressive. He's cut, and lean, lacking an ounce of excess fat. As would be expected from a solo mountain climber...whatever he called it.
My arms are crossed over my chest, wedged. Lightly, I dust my fingers over his skin, taking advantage of his moments in sleep, admiring his warmth. My feet are ice cold, but he's sustaining the heat for us with just his bare skin. He's not snoring, but his breath is heavy, his exhales strong.
His arms are long enough in length to surround me completely, and surprisingly, they haven't weakened through the night. I don't think we've moved for hours. Knowing it's early, I snuggle into his throat. I'm not sure how much time has passed when movement wakes me again.
Aidan is sliding out of bed. He's careful not in effort not to wake me, and experiencing a fleeting moment of panic at this uncomfortable situation, I fake comatose while he gently lowers my cheek to a pillow, my hands to the mattress. I expect the mattress to move when he gets up, but it doesn't, leaving me doing my best to appear asleep.
Thankfully, my hair is shielding my features, golden against the light.
Until it's not. My chest thumps madly when I feel a soft, hesitant brush of fingers along my cheek, and realize he's pushing my hair back. When they glide along my cheekbone, and round the corner of my eye, utilizing his own time to touch me, I'm positive he's staring at me.
He's watching me sleep.
Such an intimate, uncomfortable...beautiful thing to do.
The moment only lasts a few seconds. He climbs out of bed, and I hear his feet pad across the ground. His bedroom door opens, and I allow myself to finally look, knowing he's gone. Where to, I'm not sure. It's freezing in the room, and without his body to provide sustaining heat, I'm all too aware of it.
It dawns on me then. I flip over, blinking at the window.
It's bright. More of a glowing haze than sunlight, but it's not snowing. I jump out of the bed, and rush to the window to get a look at the damage. The snow is overwhelming and everywhere, feet off the ground. My car is layered under it, only the roof and a potion of the windows of it visible. I can't even see the driveway.
It dawns on me that I'll be able to breathe fresh air today, and that's comforting. However, the sky is still swirling with activity, which makes me wonder if this is only a small break to the unruly weather. By the window is Aidan's desk, cluttered with frames of pictures, ancient books. I lift a piece of paper, noticing crayon drawings. It's a picture drawn by his daughter, proven by her name scribbled on the bottom, nearly eligible.
She's drawn flowers. Well, one line of green with white pedals attached. The flower looks wilted.
"Morning."
I jump at the intrusion, shocked by how quiet he managed to enter. Aidan is at the threshold of the room, leaning against the doorway. I set down the picture, awkwardly.
"I'm sorry. It was just lying out," I say, nervous he'll take my curiosity as something else. But he doesn't. He straightens, in a long sleeved shirt that must have been lying around. He approaches me, slowly, his eyes focused on the picture rested on his array of books.
"Snow drops," he says.
"What?"
His chin points to the paper. "The flowers."
"She was a talented two year old," I whisper, and I hear my breath catch, as I second guess everything I say. I'm worried to tick him off.
"Yes, she was," he says, lifting the page. I stare over his features as he stares at the drawing, falling silent.
"Did she like these?"
He's silent enough for me to know he's affected. I allow him time to decide whether he wants to tell me. He sets down the photo and his gaze moves to the window.
"My great-grandmother planted snowdrops on these grounds many years ago. They're everywhere behind the house. When the snow begins to dissipate, you can actually watch them poke out of the top sheet of it, even in the winter. They are winter flowers."
"I don't think I've ever seen ones like these."
"She had just learned to walk," he says, and clears his throat loudly. It still cracks when he attempts to speak again. "L-Lily adored them. I'd have to follow close behind her because she always tried running through them. I'd have to catch her before she face-planted."
I smile, shocked he's telling me anything about her. But just as quickly as he begins to open up, I realize how dangerous it is for him to do it. In a matter of seconds, his eyes transform, the fondness erasing completely. It's replaced with desolation, an extreme resentment for the thoughts he's brought up.
"I spent months...pulling them out of the ground, trying to get rid of them," he says, turning. I stare at the picture, my limbs refusing to budge, too nervous to face him. His voice is full of contempt, almost to the point of anger. Nothing I could say would make anything better, so I remain silent.
I hear him moving around behind me, and realize he's moved on from the conversation, forced himself out of the subject. I hear his wardrobe open, and finally, he exhales. It's the first breath I've heard him take in minutes.
"I think I have some warm things you can wear. We've caught a break in the storm, but the sky is dark over the mountains to the west."
He pulls out a plaid long-sleeved shirt and then a sweater and lays them both down on the mussed up bed. My eyes follow his movements, my heart clenching for him while I watch him force all of his horrors back, back so he can function. He adds a pair of sweats and an oversized boots to the pile, and finally looks at me.
"I think these should do."
"Thank you." I'm glad for the new clothes. I'm currently standing in the floral dress his wife owned, freezing my butt off. I chuckle, shuffling where I am, burdened by the tension floating above our heads.
"No hope for a shower then? Should we check the generator?"
"I just did," he says, and shakes his head. "It's out. I'm going to get dressed and shovel the pathway while I can so the next bout of snow won't completely trap us here."
"The pathway?"
He nods. "Yes, there's a pathway behind the house. It slopes the mountain down to my housekeeper's cabin. They may have an extra generator. I figured it wouldn't hurt to check, and make sure they are all right."
"Can I help?"
His eyes squint, his mouth twisting with amusement. "You want to shovel? Josephine, it's damn cold out there."
"It's better than staying in the haunted house by myself, Aidan," I say, pointedly, snatching up the clothes. He chuckles, shagging a hand through his hair.
"It was dark. You were probably dreaming."
"I wasn't," I press, aggravated. "Why don't you stop speaking in riddles and be up front for once?"
His brows shoot up high on his face. "Ask a question then, Josephine."
"Okay. Do you think this house is haunted? Do you believe in spirits, in ghosts?"
"Yes."
"To what?"
"To both," he replies, bluntly. I blink at him forever, thinking of another dreaded night in this house. I swallow, trying to push past the sinking fear in my gut.
"Well then I'm sure as hell coming with you then."
He holds up his hands. "Fine. Okay."
"I'm guessing there's no water, then?" I ask, yearning for a shower.
"I'll go up now into the attic. Our portable shower is there. You can shower later when I've warmed up some water. For now, brushing your teeth will have to do."
"Portable shower?" I question, disbelievingly.
He smirks. "Have you never been camping before?"
"No," I reply, just a quick and his brows furrow, as if he hadn't expected that answer.
"Oh...well, yes, it's got a pump and a shower head. Using a bucket of water, you can bathe yourself."
"Wow. You don't have a back-up generator, but you have a portable showerhead," I say sarcastically and he laughs.
"Easy."
I smirk, entering the bathroom with the clothes. I leave the door cracked, refusing to close myself in a space that has a lock. The memories of last night are far too vivid to warrant solitude right now.
"Any other odd contraptions you have under your sleeve to keep us alive this week?"
"Bed warmers."
I begin to unbutton the dress. "What is that?"
"It's an antique, very effective. You add river stones to it and heat it up, place it under the comforters. It keeps the bed warm."
I slip out of the dress with a laugh, and drape it over the corner of the long wall of the tub. I pull up the sweats and tie the waist band as tight as I can. Sitting down on the edge of the tub, I grab the plaid, unbuttoning the material. "That's insane."
I hear him placing logs in the fireplace, starting a fire. Within seconds, I smell burning wood. I stand and slip my arms through the sleeves, freezing when I notice I'm angled toward the crack in the door. My heart falls to my stomach at the sight of Aidan standing by the bed. I catch the moment he goes from unawareness to splitting shock, finding the sight of me scantily clad in the doorway.
I should pull away, jump back so he can't see me. Instead, I settle the thick fabric onto my shoulders, and my hands drop down over the parted material just barely concealing my breasts to begin buttoning.
He should look away, but surprisingly, he doesn't. He towers a few feet away from me, frozen on his way out. His eyes follow the directions of my fingers, and just as I reach my breasts, the corners of the slopes on display, they jump to my eyes, piercing me with heat. I blush a shade of red at the look.
He tears himself away the same moment I do, clearing his throat. "I'll get your toothbrush. We...we should be leaving soon."
"Okay," I answer, sounding anything but like myself. I button the shirt up to my throat, and chuckle when I know I'm alone. I can't believe I just did that.
A few moments later, I hear him come back. I open the door, and smile at the way he finds it hard to look at me. He extends my toothbrush, and I take it, thanking him. He also has a pitcher of water for me.
"We can share it," I say, smirking. He's adorable when he's embarrassed.
"You're dead set on putting me in the most uncomfortable situations, aren't you?"
"Damn straight."
Despite his resentment, he follows me into the bathroom and we groom together. I watch as he washes his face, and brushes his teeth, meeting my gaze with a small smirk as we do it side by side. When we're as cleaned up as we can be without a shower, and he's bundled himself up, he grabs the snow boots he laid out.
"They're going to be big, but these socks should fill up some space."
He tells me to sit, and when I do, he bends, and grabs one of the winter socks. I blink, gaping when he takes ahold of my ankle and slips my foot through. He does it to the other, and then moves on to the boots. My gaze softens as he puts my shoes on for me, tying the shoe strings hard to ensure the utmost safety.
"There," he says, straightening.
"Thank you," I say, rolling my toes inside of them. They are way too big, but I should be able to walk all right in them. He provides me a coat. It's long and ends around my calves, and not because it's supposed to. I put it on as he finds more things to layer me with like a scarf, a beanie...even gloves.
"I look like a yeti," I mumble as he wraps the scarf around my neck.
"You can never be too careful."
"Of what? I should be climbing Mount Everest with this get-up!"
"Oh, stop," he admonishes, slinking into his own coat. He's clearly given me his gloves, but he does wrap his neck with a scarf. He's already gotten the weird shower thing and the water is ready for boiling for later, so we are ready to go.
And I am so excited to leave this house. I practically skip down the steps, and he follows, smirking but nowhere near my level of anticipation. The walls of the manor seem less frightening in the light of day, the malice in the air gone.
We exit through a back door in the kitchen, where there is a small covering of stone and steps leading up to ground level. Because of the clearing, only some snow has trickled down and it makes it easy for us to exit. The wave of frigid air is numbing, but refreshing considering all I've inhaled the last couple days has been ancient books and firewood.
We stomp through snow that stops around our knees, and I realize how much has actually come down. We reach the shed, and I scan the mountains of snow with wonder as he tries to push the door open. The snow is making it difficult.
"You're saying there's going to be more?" I say, bewildered.
"Yes. By the look of the sky, it's not over."
"Everything we're about to do is going to be for nothing then."
"Clearing this path means that when more snow comes down and everything else piles higher, we'll still be able to find a way down the mountain."
He makes me sound like such a city girl. "Oh."
He hands me a shovel, removing another one for himself. "Come on. I move fast. You're going to have to keep up with me."
I roll my eyes, stomping my legs into the deep mounds of snow, following wherever he is going. At his all work, no play business, I scoop up a thick wad of snow and throw it at his back with as much strength as I can muster.
It hits his coat with a thud, and he freezes, his shoulders tensing. He turns to look at me, eyes wide. I smile wider.
"Josephine, we have work to—"
I hit him in the chest this time, and he shakes his head, trying so hard not to enjoy himself. He begins walking again, refusing to indulge me. I jump into the spaces he's making in the snow with his body, clearing the way and chuckle, grabbing more of the frothy snow.
"Don't you dare," he says, without even turning back. I aim for the back of his head, not anticipating that he was moving. The snow splatters on his face, stopping him cold. My hands shoot up to my mouth in shock.
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry," I apologize, horrified. He'll be livid now.
His eyes meet my face with a glare as he wipes the icy water from his face begrudgingly. I grimace when he turns back the way he was going and begins walking again, having provided his warning. I grab my shovel off the ground.
A mountain of snow suddenly rains upon me, shaking me to my toes. I gasp at the blow, and remove the snow from my face so I can see him. He's looking at me, still slightly bent, his eyes daring, his lips curved with amused interest.
I gape, and momentarily, we stand just waiting on each other.
And then we leap into action. I throw my shovel with a shrieking laugh as he hops through the snow after me, far faster than I, with much bigger hands. His snowballs are powerful and frightening—in the best way. I'm sinking into so much snow, trying so hard to hit him back, but I'm no match.
Failing miserably, he catches up to me, grabbing onto my coat, pulling me back with a loud laugh. I giggle, screaming as he plays dirty, and attempts to pour some into my coat. I escape his grasp, embracing the cold, embracing the sound of his laughter.
I turn to look at him, grinning as I run, and the sight of him, smiling—no, beaming—from ear to ear, stuns me enough that I trip over my own feet, and drop into the layers of snow, landing in the sea of it with a noisy thud. I sink far enough that I have walls of it on both sides of me.
"Jo?" he calls out, and I hear him stomping over to me quickly. He appears over me, his eyes wide, his breath short. "Are you okay?"
My gloved fingers sink and crunch around a fistful and catching him off guard, I fling it at him. He gasps, then growls, reaching for me, and he smiles again the moment I begin laughing. I pull him down with me, following his face dizzily, blown away by the sight of Aidan Hughes with his guard down.
His teeth are a brilliant white. Somehow, his smile manages to light up his entire face, and it spreads everywhere. His eyes are unclouded, the weight of his sorrows lifted for just this moment. It's breathtaking, and affecting to see him this way.
He notices that I've stopped fighting him, and have clearly become entranced by something he's done. His hands are wrapped around my wrists, his legs on either side of mine. He's bent over me, just inches away—and I can't control myself.
I lift my neck off the ground and kiss him. My lips crush to his, giving him no warning. His mouth doesn't immediately respond, but when I open my lips against him, wanting more, he follows suit, and gives me his tongue.
I moan at the minty taste of him, overcome by the way he takes over, letting my wrists go to clasp my face. My head slams back into the cold snow as he devours my mouth, succumbing to what we both want and yearn for.
Intimacy.
He welcomes my desperation, and returns it with even more strength. There is so much here...we just don't know what it is.
Just his lips on my lips give me more satisfaction than most men have ever managed to offer. He hasn't even been inside of me, and I'm this distraught by him. I want to see him smile. I want to be the reason he smiles. And that reminds me that here, with him, I'm on unfamiliar ground.
Everything I experience is something new, something I've never known.
I find Aidan's warmth, the prickly edges of his jaw with my gloves, and kiss him until our mouths begin to numb, the time slipping away from us. When his mouth slows, and his lips drift to my cheek with an exhale, my eyes close, memorizing this moment.
"God, what are you doing to me?" he whispers, softly, and my entire body shudders. I smile, happy enough to feel it radiating through every bone, every muscle, every vein.
I'm happy enough to hurt.
He pulls back to look at me, and he witnesses my joy. He looks confused by it, but also satisfied.
"What?"
"I like your smile," I confess. Conscious of it now, his smile doesn't reach his ears, but his cheeks do warm. He runs his ice cold thumb over my bottom lip and shakes his head.
"It's going to be your fault we get shut in here," he says, nearly laughing.
"Kiss me again—"
He stops all my talking with his mouth, throwing caution to the wind to give me what I want.